Cold
by Masako Moonshade
Summary: All I know is that I'm cold. And I'm alone. // Ro’s out there. Somewhere. And I cannot find her.
1. Ice

AN: So I wrote this when I was Zeta binging, and... I like it, despite myself. I gave up on it a few months back because I couldn't figure out who I wanted the villain to be. If you have any ideas, feel free to include them in the review.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. But I do love Zeta, and would set him free if I did own it.

* * *

_It's cold. So very cold. _

_I don't know where I am, or what time it is. I think it's late, but I can't be sure. All around is white, endless swirling white, and it blots out the color of the sky. I don't know where I am, or if I'm going in circles, or if I'm wandering towards shelter or away from it._

_All I know is that I'm cold. And I'm alone._

**The cold is making it difficult to function. It is sapping my power supplies and leaving my circuits sluggish, but I don't dare stop. Ro's out there. Somewhere. And I cannot find her.**

**I can't see properly—the snowflakes keep melting and freezing again on my ocular sensors, blurring my vision. Every few moments I have to adjust the contrast to compensate for the blinding brightness of the snow. All I can hear is the howling of wind, the cracking of ice on my joints, the crunch of my feet crushing snow beneath me.**

**Ro is nowhere to be found.**

_I keep moving. I know that's supposed to be a bad idea and all—let them find you, and all that—but I'm cold, and I can't feel my fingers or my toes, and I'm scared that if I stop I'll freeze to death. Digging my way through the snow is enough of a workout to make me sweat, and that's all I've got right now. I remember the stories I used to hear at the girl's home—that if you fall asleep, you'll never wake up._

_The thought terrifies me into moving faster. I've almost died before—tons of times. Even more after I met Zee. But dying here, alone in this white nothingness—that scares me more than anything else. I can't stop. I won't._

**I raise the volume on my voice and continue shouting for her. The area is mountainous, but the conditions are not adequate for an avalanche. That, at least, will not be a danger for her. It is a shallow comfort.**

**I try to calculate the variables—the temperature, the moisture in the air, the speed of the wind, the rate of snowfall—but I still cannot determine how much time I have left to find her before—**

**That is not true. I cannot make myself run the calculations. I enter the variables, but I do not let myself interpret them. Because if time runs out—if I am wrong—if I give up and she is still alive—**

**I do not feel pain, but it hurts to think of it. I continue calling out to her, but the wind whips the sounds away and scatters among the snowflakes. Useless.**

**I attempt a thermal scan, but all I see is cold.**

_My teeth hurt. It's from sucking in the cold air, I think, but really I have no idea. I just know they hurt. I'm tired—so tired—but I can't stop yet. If I stop I'll die, I keep telling myself. If I stop I'll die._

_I turn back, just for a moment, just to make sure I'm still going the right way (how would I know?). My footprints are already gone, erased by the blizzard. Like I was never here. Like I never existed._

_The thought makes me laugh, which makes my teeth hurt more and my throat seize up and I end up in a coughing fit. I must be going crazy. Do people go crazy right before they die? Probably helps them cope._

_I look down again, and the ground is closer than it used to be. I've fallen down._

_Funny, I should have felt that. But my legs are numb from wading through the slush, and I couldn't tell you if I still have any of my toes, let alone feet. No idea._

_I try to pull myself up, but the snow buries my hands, stabs at my palms, makes my fingers disappear entirely into oblivion._

_I can't get up._

_It takes everything in my power not to start crying—the idea of dying with frozen tears stuck to my face makes me feel sick. Instead I take in a gulp of frigid air and scream:_

"_**ZEEEEEEEE!"**_

**I hear something, just barely audible beyond the roar of the storm. A voice. Her voice.**

**I take off running toward the source of the sound, desperate to find her. Praying it's not too late.**

_I'm so scared._

**Nothing but white. I keep shouting, as loud as my power stores will let me, listening all the while for her voice. The rate of snowfall is growing less intense, and I can begin to see the outline of the terrain.**

_I keep yelling until my throat is raw and I cough up blood. I'm dizzy. I don't remember what I was screaming for. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I'm confused and so tired._

_I need to sleep. I know I shouldn't, but I don't remember why. Besides, a little nap couldn't hurt._

**Finally I see something—an anomaly in the landscape, a lump where there should be flatness, a miniscule splash of color hiding in the whiteness. **

**It's Ro. She's silent, still, almost entirely buried by snow. Her face is too pale, her lips are blue, and she is limp in my arms as I lift her up.**

**She is dying.**

**I open my chest cavity, exposing my internal heating element. A few snowflakes melt from her face, but she doesn't stir. I move as quickly and carefully as I can, looking for something to use as shelter. Something to block the wind and cold.**

**I spot a stony outcropping and nestle Ro into a corner, out of reach of the biting wind. I regret that I have no real clothes to offer—I have nothing to protect her from the snow, nothing to cover her. I crouch over her and shield her as best I can. The wind is nipping at my circuits, but I do not care: color is returning to her cheeks, and she is starting to shiver. **

**But there is a new problem.**

**I am quickly losing power. The majority of my energy is being diverted to keeping her warm; the heat is dissipating quickly and must be replaced faster than I can restore it. I am not sure how long I can keep this up. Night is falling, and an even deeper cold is settling around us.**

**I have an idea. I do not like it. But it is her only chance.**

**For the first time I deeply regret not having a cellular phone. Instead I decide on a rather crude signal. I close my chest just for a moment and unleash a splendor of light.**

**Ro cringes, still unconscious, as the night erupts into day. And in the distance, I can see the faint green tint of Bennett's van.**


	2. Trap

Disclaimer: Still own nothing. Still in love with Zeta.

AN: First off, thanks to DragonCat for giving me an idea on what direction I should take this.

Second, I apologize for confusing you last chapter, but I'm glad to see that most of you were able to figure out where I was going with the PoV. Just a heads up, this chapter is not from the Zee/Ro viewpoint. I think you'll be able to piece together the rest, but at least now you're ready for it.

* * *

This isn't right.

It's a plot—some sort of trap. Maybe he intends to tamper with our computers, maybe he needs access to something—maybe he's finally acting on his reprogramming. I have no idea. And as cautious as I am, I can't just throw him out now that I finally have him.

I'm trying to make sense of what's going on, but it isn't easy. The Rowan girl is hypothermic—that much is true—and he's shown concern for her in the past. He's also put her in danger before, without any indications of remorse. And if he really does… 'care' about this girl, how on earth did they get separated in the first place? A machine as advanced as Zeta shouldn't have had any problems with this kind of situation, and he's proven resourceful in the past. But would he put her in this condition on purpose?

There's something I'm missing here. I know it's looking me in the eyes, but I just can't see it.

The terms of his surrender are even more suspicious— that he not be deactivated or disengaged, that he not be separated from the girl, that she receive medical attention. (Of course she will—what kind of monsters does he take me for?) So far he's made no attempt to run or resist his restraints.

In fact, he hasn't done much of anything for the past few hours. He just sits there and stares at her. He doesn't move, doesn't speak; I might have guessed he'd broken down if I didn't know better.

A question surfaces in my thoughts as I watch them. It isn't the first time it's come to mind, but up until now I've disregarded it as unimportant. Maybe that was a hasty judgment.

The Rowan girl. Rosalie Rowan. There's something about her—she's part of that something I'm missing. She has to be. This isn't just some runaway looking for trouble—any delusions of adventure should have worn off months ago. She could be a simple accomplice, but that requires motivation. Money? Zeta certainly has enough of it, but people don't risk this much for a few creds. Not even a few million. Maybe he's promised to help find her family? But the girl is clever—even if she didn't see through such a ridiculous lie, she must be more than capable of finding them herself. No. There's something else.

A hostage, maybe? One with Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps? It isn't unheard of.

What is she? There must be something in her bio that I missed. Something besides starting fights and shoplifting and assisting a fugitive.

She isn't a target—could she be with Brother's Day? There doesn't seem to be anything tying her to them, but it isn't beyond their means to alter a person's files. Could he be acting as her body guard? If he is, he's doing a lousy job of it.

Or is she with someone else? Maybe a drug cartel somewhere—I've heard that they spent a brief time out of the country in the south. I need to have her X-rayed when we get to a secure location—smuggling contraband in a human body isn't unusual for these people. And that would certainly explain their little field trips.

I pull up her files and start reading. It's here—I know it. I just have to find out what it is.


	3. Vid

Disclaimer: If I owned Zeta, it would be on it's 10th season right now.

AN: I'm sorry that this one is short, and that it's taking me so long to update. I've been trying to figure out exactly where I'm going with this one, and in that process I've run out of the pre-written chapters. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can, and until then I hope this one gives you a bit of a laugh.

* * *

I watch them out of the corner of my eye—covert, so they don't notice. Even though, come to think of it, I don't think they would notice anyway. They're kind of busy, and haven't been paying attention to much of anything but each other.

Jeeze, it's like one of those drama vids my girlfriend used to drag me to. Before she was my ex, anyway.

"What were you _thinking_?" the girl shouts, and she looks like she's about to slap him. She doesn't, though—probably a good thing, since slapping a robot would hurt. Not that I would know or anything.

"I had no choice," he says meekly. Which is completely wrong—in the vids, the guy always growls that line with a grim look on his face. Vid stars don't regret anything, even in chick flicks, and they _don't_ apologize.

"_'No choice_?'" she shrieks. "Of _course_ you did! You could have run for it!"

"But you would have—" Man, this guy's a wimp. How did he manage to get away from us so long?

"Beats you getting reprogrammed," she grumbles.

These guys are idiots. They've been going on like this for ages in a _crowded van_, knowing perfectly well that they're under arrest and everyone here can hear _every word_ they're saying, but they keep pretending it's a private conversation. Just like in those stupid vids.

He starts to say something, but she cuts him off before I can hear it: "Shut up. I'm just cold."

I look over to see what's going on: she's cuddled up to him, but she still looks irate (that word got me through the GATs). Apparently she sees me, too, and she shoots me a glare. Her hair and clothes are wet, and she's wrapped in a now-damp towel. Personally, I think she looks kind of like a drowned cat. Especially with that look on her face.

And then she sneezes.

I'm way too professional to laugh—she looks even more ridiculous right now—so I just cough politely until I get it out of my system.

"Laugh it up, scuzzball," she mutters. _Real_ mature.

Rush stops staring intently at the screen and looks up at the captives. "Sir," she asks Bennett, "shouldn't we get her something dry to wear?" It's a nice enough question to ask, but does the accomplice girl think so? Of course not.

"_What_?" she shrieks—she's good at that, I've noticed. "And—and change in _here_? In front of all _you_ people? Are you crazy?" Oh, so she _has_ noticed that she's in a crowded van. It's about time. She's so busy yelling and protesting that I can't make out exactly what's happening, but I can make out the gist of it.

Bennett's marching right up to the robot, completely ignoring the girl. He's talking, and he's using his persuasive voice—the one that usually makes civilians crawl into a corner somewhere while he does what needs to get done. And Zeta's talking back, and he looks worried—I must be going crazy; since when did robots have expressions?—but eventually he turns his head around to look at the girl, and he starts calming her down.

"Can I at least get a towel or something first?" she whines. "I'm not doing this out in the open."

Yeah, she gets a towel. And since the robot's handcuffed to the wall, somebody else has to hold it up for her to hide behind as she changes. And who gets stuck pretending to be a living shower curtain?

You guessed it.

I need a new job.


End file.
